


adder ❲⧼

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Poisoning, Whump, canon past minor character death, passing out from pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23794483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: A phone call, and everything goes black. The team deals with the shock as someone falls victim to Endicott's latest hijinks. Spoilers through pre-1x20, with the assumption that this takes place near end of 1x20.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Passing Out from Pain.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	adder ❲⧼

Malcolm’s life suspended from the precinct is one hectic ball of chaos thrown in the dryer with a whole basket of needles. Nothing gets knitted. Everything gets tangled and pierced.

 _Today is your day to shine_ , his daily affirmation card says.

Bullshit.

He rips it in half, his disdain for affirmation cards right up there with his hatred of Endicott at the moment. Pours himself a cup of coffee as if it will settle his nerves and restore his purpose.

It doesn’t.

He needs _work_. He could go talk with the girl in the box, get a lead on why Endicott is playing puppet master, stop this whole insane plot against his family.

If he gets himself arrested again, Gil _will_ kill him.

He considers toast, yet gets dressed instead.

Maybe it’s not _too_ big of a risk.

His phone rings. “Bright.”

“Gil’s in the hospital.” It’s his mother, her voice hurried. “You need to get down here _now_.”

He hits the oak floor.

Everything goes —

Black.

* * *

Malcolm wakes to his phone buzzing, the faint noise a few arm lengths away from him. He slides over to it. “Hello?”

“ _Malcolm!_ What the — ” His mother almost curses in a combination of fiery temper and concern. “That was five minutes!”

He looks at the call time on the phone. Two. Maybe. “Everything’s fine.” In that just passed out sort of way.

“You need to get here,” she demands, her voice dropping to a lower register. And in a more soothing tone, adds, “Do you want me to send Adolpho?”

“N-no, I got it.” He stumbles to his feet, his vision swimming, and pulls on his shoes.

“He poi-soned him. In my liv-ing room,” she over-enunciates, and her voice trails off.

“I’m coming,” Malcolm promises, out the door before he even ends the call.

* * *

Malcolm comes up with every scenario for how dead Gil will be. A violent display of convulsions from strychnine. Henbane concocting vibrant hallucinations, leading him into the dark. A spot of ricin with no antidote.

Forgets any form of logic on how long it would take for those poisons to cause an adverse reaction in favor of panic. First it constrains his air, then it makes his fingers tingle, then his eyes spot every little detail on the rest of the trip, his feet darting the last way from the cab.

He flies into the emergency room, arms swinging around as he looks for his mother. She pulls him toward her before he finds her. “Come sit,” she instructs.

“Where is he?” he wrenches away, his arms going up to his head. His pulse hammers under his palms, his fingers unable to still.

Jessica holds her hands out like he’s a wounded animal. “They’re treating him — he was having a hard time breathing,” she speaks slowly, and he knows she’s trying to calm him with her words.

It doesn’t work, his eyes bouncing around looking for Gil. “What happened?”

“I — “

“ _Mom,_ “ he stresses, meeting her eyes and taking in the wetness that rests there.

Jessica sits and twines her hands in her lap. “Gil and I were having drinks. Nicholas…arrived. He…wanted to smooth things over.”

Malcolm’s eyes widen, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Nicholas poured himself a drink. Wanted to stay a bit.”

“Mom — “

“Gil was angry, tried to get him to leave. Told him to stay the hell away — ”

“As he should.”

“That _bastard_. Gil puffed up like he was allergic to peanuts. And Nick, he just _smiled_ — “ she trails off, tears threatening to return.

Malcolm clenches and unclenches his fists, concentrating on the task at hand to push back some of his panic. “Gil’s not allergic to anything.”

“I know.”

“Where’s Nicholas?”

“Gone. Gave him a piece of my — ” She trails off, rubbing her stiletto.

Malcolm pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Dani? I need you to go to my mother’s.”

“What’s going on?”

He starts pacing again. “Gil may have been poisoned — ”

“How is he?”

“Get them to collect the whiskey. Take it for analysis. Endicott’s in — ”

“How — “

“I don’t know. _Please_ — “ he pleads, his hand in the air in front of him.

“I’m on it.”

He hangs up, and his mother grabs his pant leg, forcing him into a seat and pushing his head between his knees. “Breathe before you pass out again.”

“ _Mother_ ,” his voice is muffled in the fabric.

“I wasn’t born yesterday. Not even last week,” she snips, letting him know she means business.

He tries to protest again, but she just hugs his back. The foreign display of affection is enough to get him to realize he needs to get his wits about him and look after her too. He takes several deep breaths, focusing on calming himself.

* * *

When Jessica and Malcolm get the okay to see Gil in the ICU, Gil’s eyes are wide open and pained, but his tongue and lips are puffed quadruple the size, his tongue no longer fitting in his mouth. The sight stutters Malcolm in the doorway a moment, giving Jessica the opportunity to stride by him and take Gil’s hand.

Gil keeps looking toward Malcolm, and Malcolm registers he needs to move his feet, crossing to the end of the bed and squeezing Gil’s ankle.

“This all might look a little scary,” the doctor’s voice to the right of Gil’s bed surprises Malcolm. Gil the center of attention, he hadn’t even noticed someone else was there. “What just finished was a nebulizer treatment to help him breathe a little easier. And he’s getting medicine to reduce the swelling and extra fluid to help protect his kidneys. We’re closely monitoring his breathing.”

“What’s — “ Jessica points to a cart off to the side.

“If his airway gets compromised, we may need to intubate. That’s close by so we can act as quickly as possible.” Malcolm’s eyes widen at the prospect, seeing Gil with an endotracheal tube, and then even worse, emergency tracheotomy. _Fuck_ — if he could only turn off his brain.

Malcolm finds his voice. “When should he start to feel better?”

“Hopefully we see improvement in the next 24 hours. Looking forward to talking the nurses up a storm, huh?” the doctor directs to Gil, and Gil blinks his eyes in agreement. “Hold back on taking him dancing in the aisles, but keep him company. He may be a little groggy, but that’s expected. The nurses will be in and out a lot with medicine and monitoring his pain and breathing. All will help him get better. Any questions?”

They all look at each other. “No, doctor,” Jessica speaks. “Thank you.”

The doctor leaves. “She was pleasant,” Malcolm comments, looking to Gil.

“Chipper,” Jessica agrees and adds a darker tinge, “the world didn’t sink its talons in yet.” Gil squeezes her hand. “Are you okay?” Jessica asks, smoothing her fingers through the front of Gil’s hair.

He blinks his eyes.

“We’ll get him, Gil,” Malcolm says.

There’s not much else for Malcolm to do than sit on the end of the bed, a chair, or the windowsill and wait. For the phone to buzz with identification of the poison or they’ve got Endicott. For Gil to be able to speak, to be out of the woods, to scold him for something new.

Wait.

It’s not in his nature.

* * *

It’s the next day before Gil’s swelling goes down enough to mumble, and another after that before he can talk.

“ _Arum maculatum_ ,” Edrisa tells Malcolm over the phone.

“Huh?”

“Adder’s Tongue. Historically used to treat ringworm, stomach conditions — also one of the most toxic wild plants. Crystals,” Edrisa says, her voice drifting into further details Malcolm no longer hears.

They know what it is. Treatment! “So what can they do to — “

“There’s no antidote. What they’ve been doing. It’s working.”

He huffs into the phone in frustration.

“He’s going to be fine, Bright. They’ll keep monitoring him for internal and external swelling, and he’ll be home in a couple days.”

“Thanks, Edrisa.”

He hangs up and collects Gil’s request of clear gatorade, his mother’s ask of a latte sans the _Irish cream if they have it_ , and a pack of Twizzlers for himself.

* * *

Dani’s waiting outside of Gil’s hospital room when Malcolm gets back. They stand together, seeing his mother visit with Gil through the blinds.

“They’re watching his breathing closer than he keeps after you,” Dani says next to him. “Which is saying something.”

He gives a little chuckle.

“We can’t bring him in,” Dani admits. “I’m sorry.”

Malcolm frowns.

“No prints on the bottle or glass. No evidence of making the sandwich.”

“Sandwich?”

“Gil said they ate liverwurst sandwiches.”

“Gross,” Malcom comments, looking to her.

She crinkles her nose. “Yeah, fancy food — “ she trails off, Malcolm understanding her impression of it matched his.

“Why didn’t he poison my mother?” Malcolm wonders, playing with the lid on the coffee.

“Why didn’t he kill you?”

Dani’s hand reaches to grab the paper cup so it doesn’t drop from his hands. He lets it go, leaving her to take control of it. “More painful to suffer,” Malcolm says, his mind giving him every vision of Eve superimposed with Gil, his mother, his sister, Dani, JT, Edrisa — anyone who means everything to him.

“We’ll get him,” Dani promises.

“How many more people have to die first?” he says plainly, his face grim.

Malcolm walks into Gil’s room, fleeing the conversation.

* * *

Jessica talks Gil into letting Adolpho take him home. Malcolm insists on tagging along and seeing he gets safely inside, warning one never knows what danger could arrive on the ride home. Jessica and Gil giggle in the back seat, Malcolm riding shotgun in the front.

“Just drinks, huh?” Malcolm teases, turning his head around.

“Later.” Jessica widens her eyes at him in warning.

“You think I don’t remember?”

“Kid — “ Gil tries to interject.

“Let your mother be happy,” Jessica insists.

“I’m glad,” Malcolm comments.

“Have you gotten your blood pressure checked like I asked?” she pesters.

“Mother — “ He turns back to face the front. Because there had been so much time between the hospital and keeping in touch with the team. Not like he would have gone anyway…

“He passed out when I told him you were in the ER,” she turns to Gil and tattles.

The backseat becomes stonier, the laughter squeezed out. “That happened to me,” Gil shares. “Jackie.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessica covers his hand.

He rubs the back of it with his other and pulls away a little bit, twisting his ring around his finger. “Pain response,” Gil says out the window.

“Maybe we should — “ Jessica tries to redirect the conversation.

“I didn’t know that,” Malcolm says.

“Before you got there,” Gil explains.

* * *

**2016**

The precinct couldn’t get any quieter. They all catch up on paperwork, waiting to be called out to the next homicide requiring a bit of extra touch. Like a special poison, or a unique technique, or a count that inspires fear — not that Gil hopes for it.

No, that’s his kid. Down in Quantico, giving the FBI a run for their money. Never can keep him away from a crime scene.

He gets another cup of coffee. Wishes it’s Jackie’s instead of the common pot, needing to add more sugar to it than he cares for. Looks to his model car, wondering if they’ll get to go for a drive that weekend. Maybe upstate.

Does _hours_ more paperwork.

And goes home.

“Hi, honey,” Gil calls when he enters the living room.

Must be his day to start dinner. Stuffed chicken breast, maybe? They still have a few breasts left he can prep. Maybe she’ll like that.

Where is Jackie?

“Honey?” he calls again, walking toward the bedroom.

Not curled up with glossy pages of gallery prints in bed. Not showering in the bathroom. Not fixing up Malcolm’s, hoping for a visit.

She isn’t home?

He checks his phone, seeing if maybe he’s missed a message. She hadn’t said she would be late.

Doesn’t find anything.

Calls her phone.

Doesn’t get an answer.

Texts _hi honey, just checking in_.

Nothing.

His phone rings. “Lieutenant Arroyo,” he answers.

“Your wife is dead.”

He hits the cherry floor.

Everything goes —

Black.

* * *

**2019**

“It wasn’t a long time. Was fine,” Malcolm attempts to dismiss any concern.

“I wasn’t,” emotion pours out in Gil’s voice. Four years, and it’s still a heavy weight.

“It was…scary,” Malcolm recalls, revealing he was less than fine, and holds on to the door handle. “Glad you’re okay.”

“If you want to talk — “ Gil offers.

“Not right now.”

“Have you been in the precinct, kid?” Gil asks instead, changing the subject.

“No,” Malcolm confirms.

“Guess we can call that a success,” Gil jokes, giving a small smile.

“That is — “ Jessica scoffs, and Malcolm adds at the same time, “Not funny.”

“What?” Gil objects. “I can’t be the one cracking jokes for a change?”

“Let’s bring him in first,” Malcolm requests.

“We better get on that,” Gil says. “Not you,” he quickly corrects, rubbing the back of Malcolm’s neck through the headrest.

“Not you either,” Jessica squeezes Gil's hand. “At least a day of rest first.”

Returning to Gil’s as a family, they see each other out of the car, ensuring they are all cared for.

A bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape waits for them on the doorstep.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
